Holy Water
by thedogzoo
Summary: John Watson is a fallen angel who needs a purpose. A song-fic.


_"Somewhere there's a stolen halo,_

 _I use to watch her wear it well._

 _Everything would shine wherever she would go,_

 _But looking at her now you'd never tell."_

 ** _\- Holy Water by Big & Rich_**

* * *

Once in John Watson's life, it was perfect.

He remembered Heaven with great detail and respect.

It was big and bright and marvelous. His brothers and sisters, by the thousands, were happy and joyful. There was always a song lingering around Heaven in which everyone would sing as it passed by their attention. There was laughter and pranks, jokes, and pleasure. There was peace. Despite the different angel ranks, such as archangels as the highest, then guardians, then messengers, there was equality with each other. There was no greed to other's ranks - each rank was given specifically to one angel to best fit its potential. Everyone understood it and accepted each other.

It wasn't all harps and cherubim as most humans would expect, but it was somewhat similar to their perception of it. Very few harps inhabited Heaven, but whenever they were played, many would stop to listen until the tune faded off for another day. Cherubim didn't exist, either. Real angels' true forms were to as big as the Chrysler Building. No one was necessarily short or small with this form.

John Watson was a guardian, an angel who watched over and protected an assigned person. He was also a healer, of some sorts, of the heart. He left the aching heart of whoever was under his wings feeling light and relieved. He gave them peace.

John's true form was big and bright, overpowering some other angels' light. He radiated joy and warmth. The vessel he created of his own hands, however, was different. It molded to his personality and his very soul, if angels had one. It expressed him in general, a youthful looking man with bright eyes and thin smile. Sandy blonde hair and smooth, pale white skin. His eye color was a light brown, but every so often you could see a dark, stormy blue in the right light. Despite his small 5'6 height, he stood tall and proud, making up for the extra few inches.

His wings, however, were another matter. If he were to give them physical form, they would be very long and majestic, a 14 foot wingspan and white, soft, feathers layered together. If he were to keep them ethereal, they would be just forms of light with no detail, but would awe whoever saw them.

John Watson was truly an amazing creation.

But all of this harmony stopped when Raphael wanted to play.

* * *

"Brother, lets have some real fun," Raphael, one of the oldest archangels, whined childishly as he pestered John.

John glanced over at Raphael, a small smile flickering across his lips of amusement. "Brother," he started out, copying Raphael, "I thought you were too old for games." He continued his stroll across heaven, the two in their vessels along with the rest of their brothers and sisters. They walked along a path of stone, different colored flowers littering the sides of it.

"You're never too old for games!" Raphael protested, crossing his arms over his chest and moving in front of John's way, spinning around to face him. "C'mon, lets go prank Michael again."

John rolled his eyes, moving around him and continued on. "Do you know how much trouble you got into?" he replied. "I had to speak on your behalf, and believe me, it wasn't pretty."

"He was only a little charred."

"His wings were black!" John exclaimed, halting to a stop and turning towards Raphael. "His wings were golden before that!"

"Okay," Raphael admitted sheepishly, " _maybe_ I went a _little_ too far with that one."

The guardian only scoffed, starting to stroll slowly along to keep Raphael under supervision. "Yeah, _a little_ ," he said sarcastically, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets and shaking his head.

"Whatever." Raphael caught up to match John's speed. John swore that he was a child in an angel's vessel's body.

"I've got to get back to my duties." John had finally checked the time, finding that his self-rewarded break was now up.

"But-"

"No buts," he cut off, giving a slight glare.

"You're no fun," Raphael accused, huffing and walking away from him. John only rolled his eyes in response, finding Raphael's behavior ridiculous. He was more than a thousand years old for goodness sakes!

John let his wings manifest into physical form before flapping them and taking off, heading back down to earth where his 'client' was. Well, that was his intention. Something was blocking him off from leaving heaven.. He frowned, letting his grace expand more forcefully to get him where he needed to go, but was immediately met with a sudden jolt of resistance.

In the midst of his alarm, John felt someone tap on his shoulder. He spun around, being met with a sight that was impossible. Most impossible to be in heaven. He saw bones curl stiffly into a wing-like shape, cracked and dirty. The owner to these wings, however, was not an angel. Eyes that resembled fire and teeth like razor caught his gaze and the guardian angel gasped.

A demon.

Everything next was a blur. John took his silver blade from his right combat boot out of instinct, his gut telling him to run and fight all at the same time. He was mindless. The second that the silver blade plunged into the demon's heart was when it changed form, twisting into such a familiar face. It was Gadreel.

John gasped, his hand letting the blade go to fly up to his mouth. "Oh my- I-" he barely managed out as Gadreel fell to the ground, his grace visibly burning out inside his vessel. His expression was horrifying. The guardian angel couldn't comprehend what he had just done. He'd been tricked to kill his own brother.

That was his downfall.

John felt a burning sensation spread across his wings. He turned his head to find his once white feathers charred and black, as if fire had engulfed them and went out, leaving ash behind. The wings themselves had not disintegrated, but their color indeed had. The pain worsened, making him cry out and drop to his knees upon the ground that was stained red with his brother's blood.

He's heard about this before. One of his many, many brothers rebelled against their Father and ended up with his wings taken and his grace twisted, leaving him an ugly presence. Now a days, they call him Lucifer. Satan. The Devil. Back then, he was Samael, the Light Bringer. In his wrong doing, many other angels followed and became destroyed of what they used to be.

Not one of them was the same, though. *Ryleighfel's vessel became scarred, and so had his wings. His skin became marked and flawed, where his feathers shed and left slashed meat in their place. You can't see them without having the urge to grimace. **Barachiel's vessel and grace was close to a child's, pure and happy. He was a very youthful angel until he took a place in the fallen category and his grace became aged, as well as his vessel. He looked elderly and his grace was hurt, foolish, as if he'd lived a thousand lives like it and seen so much.

John knew all of this very well and feared it.

It felt like his brain turned to mush, unable to process thoughts clearly. He could feel the pain in his wings, more so in his left shoulder and wing. He could hear all the warnings flash through his brain - 'Don't do that or you'll fall.' He hear his millions of awful ideas, things that could be done to him, and things of shock. It was all too much.

Soon enough, everything went out in a bang.

* * *

*Ryleighfel - "Rolly-fell"

**Barachiel - "Buh-rake-ee-ul"

 **Hey there, my little Guardians. :) I wrote part of this a long, long while ago and just got around to finishing it. It was a little one-shot idea, but I was thinking of turning it into a short story that could be turned into a longer one if wanted.**

 **From what you've read, what do you think of it? Should I go along with the idea? Please review!**

 **Until next time.**

 **Thedogzoo signing off.**


End file.
